Roots in Texas

by K. N. Casper

  “I like your version better,” she admitted, returning his wan smile, “but I have to be realistic. The people who administer these programs are conditioned to say no.” She eyed him, unsure whether she dared bring up her next point. “There is one possible way we can save them.”

  He leaned against the half door of a stall and crossed his arms. Did he have any idea how attractive he looked? But of course he didn’t, and that just made him more appealing.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You and I could get married.”

  He bolted up straight. “What?”

  His shock instinctively made her take a step back.

  “You must be out of your mind. I already told you—”

  “Let me explain.”

  He strode down the central alley. She had to trot to keep up. “You’re being ridiculous, Kayla. Stupid.”

  “Ethan, listen—”

  He spun to face her, his features dark, eyes narrowed, as hard and impenetrable as jade. “No, Kayla, you listen. You of all people... I told you about... I’ve made my position clear. No marriage. No children.” He stomped back toward the feed room.

  “Ethan,” she called out, rushing to catch up with him. “Ethan, calm down and let me explain.” She grabbed him by the arm, stopping him, but he refused to look at her. Tension cascaded off him in waves.

  “When I’m finished,” she said, “all you have to do is say yes or no.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’ve already said no.”

  “What I’m suggesting,” she persisted, “is a marriage of convenience. We go through a quiet civil ceremony and immediately petition to adopt Heather and Brad. Once the adoption is complete and they’re legally ours, we just as quietly divorce. All our properties will remain in our own names and we still maintain separate bank accounts, so there won’t be any problem about dividing up assets when we divorce. I’ll take the kids. I’ll even sign a prenuptial agreement, promising not to ask for child support. You won’t have any financial obligations toward me or them.”

  He gaped at her. “You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?” he practically growled through clenched teeth.

  “I think so,” she said, pretending she wasn’t aware of his sarcasm.

  “Well, there are just a few minor details you failed to consider—aside from the fact that you’re asking me to commit fraud.”

  He began to pace. “Even if we were to get married tomorrow, we wouldn’t be able to prevent Child Protective Services from relocating those kids. They’d yank Heather and Brad out of here, and we couldn’t even offer them the consolation of knowing it’s only until we can adopt them, because that would give them false hope. We have no idea if our application for adoption will be approved, or how long the whole bureaucratic process will take. And if we failed to adopt them, it would be even more devastating for them.”

  He stopped, his head bowed.

  “There’s no way I’d bring children into my home and then walk out on them. Just because your husband did that doesn’t mean I can or will. Divorce would tear those kids apart. They’d blame themselves.

  “Besides,” he said, straightening, “I could not, would not, ever walk away from my financial obligations toward them. If I were to adopt them, they would be my children, not playthings to be shuffled—”

  “Okay. Stop.” Kayla turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears stinging her eyes. “I just thought... Forget it.”

  * * *

  ETHAN WATCHED HER rip out of the courtyard, down the long drive and disappear from view. She’d been crying, though she’d made a valiant attempt to hide it from him.

  He was furious. Who did he think he was playing the holier-than-thou role? He had absolutely no right to preach to her about anything. Her proposal had been shocking, but the real reason for his anger was that he wanted to accept it.

  Did she have any idea what it would be like for him, to be that close to her and not be able to hold her, kiss her?

  Her suggestion had staggered him. She was willing to go that far to save the children from being lost in the system?

  For all his posturing, he’d been right. Marrying under those conditions would be wrong and ultimately do more harm than good. Unless...she grew to love him. But why should she? How could she? She knew what he’d done, the legacy of death that trailed him.

  His sanctimoniousness didn’t make the problem go away, so what were they going to do about the children?

  He kept going back to their kisses and what it felt like to have Kayla in his arms. The look in her eyes that said she wanted to be close to him.

  * * *

  BOYD CALLED KAYLA from Longview Sunday evening. He’d supervised the selection and packing of five thousand prime cuttings and sounded happy.

  “When will you be home?” She wondered what he would think of the proposal she’d made to Ethan. Misguided, probably.

  “The truck left this afternoon. I tried to get a flight out of here tomorrow, but everything’s booked, so I won’t be leaving until Tuesday morning with a long layover in L.A. I don’t get into San Antonio until just after five, smack-dab in the middle of rush hour. Really messes up your schedule. Sorry.”

  “We’ll be glad to have you home,” she assured him. “I’ll bring Megan with me.”

  “Any new developments on the poisoning?”

  “The sheriff called me yesterday to say he’s widening the search of possible sources of the herbicide. He checked locally and in San Antonio, but no one has sold any large quantities in the past six months. He’s checking Austin now.”

  “Had to buy it somewhere. I suppose they could have made a lot of small purchases.”

  “That’s what Wade thinks. Probably paid cash at a bunch of different outlets, so there won’t be any records.”

  “Time consuming,” Boyd said, “but it leaves no doubt about premeditation. What’s the status of the security system?”

  “The big outfit that handles Gallagher’s ranch offered to put me on a waiting list to do a survey a month from now. I told them I couldn’t wait that long. The other one came out Friday afternoon. I’m going with them.”

  “Was Ethan there when you met with them?”

  For a moment Kayla wanted to protest that she didn’t need a man to make a decision for her, but her father was probably asking because Ethan had offered to be backup.

  “With her,” she corrected. “The rep was a retired female cop from Houston. Yeah, I called Ethan and he came over.”

  “When will they do the installation?”

  “Tomorrow and Tuesday. If all goes well, it’ll be up Tuesday night.”

  “Good timing, then, since the cuttings should arrive that afternoon. How’s Megan?”

  “Fine. She’s really excited to be in the school pageant.”

  “That’s great. No problems otherwise?”

  Kayla knew he was referring to his granddaughter’s asthma. “A little bit of congestion on Friday, but it’s probably just spring pollen.”

  “Keep her indoors.”

  Kayla laughed. “Easier said than done. I wish I could bottle her energy. Except for her lessons on Birdsong, though, I do keep her inside as much as possible.”

  “See you Tuesday at five, then.”

  “Be safe, Dad.”

  * * *

  KAYLA RECEIVED a fax of the report from the lab in Oregon Monday at noon, confirming what she already knew, that herbicide had killed her vineyard. Specifically, Roundup.

  “At least now we have it in writing from a recognized authority,” Sheriff Montgomery said when she called him.

  “Unfortunately this doesn’t also tell us who did it or why.”

  “Anything else that might give us a clue?”

  “I don’t know how significant this may be,” she replied, “but there’s a note that the concentration of the chemical was markedly stronger than recommended.”

  “Hmm. Does that mean whoever used it was unfamiliar with the product?”
>
  “Definitely overkill. Even a slightly weakened solution would have been enough to destroy these vulnerable young sprouts. So why increase the dosage?”

  “To be sure it worked?” he asked.

  “Or, it could indicate the user doesn’t know anything about budding plants.”

  “In other words, not a farmer.”

  “Or a gardener.”

  The whole situation was depressing, Kayla thought as she hung up. Someone was trying to put her out of business before she really got started. The foster children were being transferred out of the district, perhaps never to return. Then there was the constant push-pull she felt with Ethan.

  To make matters even worse, Megan had been stuffed-up Monday morning. It didn’t appear to be anything serious, but with an asthmatic any respiratory distress could become life-threatening.

  Kayla put her on the nebulizer and was tempted to keep her home for the day, but Megan insisted on going to school because they were rehearsing for the spring pageant, and the little ham—Kayla had to smile at her daughter’s instinct for dramatics—didn’t want to miss anything, especially since she had a starring roll.

  Megan was having more difficulty breathing when she came home on the school bus that afternoon with Heather and Brad. There was no way, however, that Kayla would take her daughter over to the Broken Spoke. She hadn’t shown particular sensitivity to horses but a combination of otherwise innocuous elements could trigger a severe reaction or make a mild one worse.

  It didn’t seem fair to deprive the other two of their favorite diversion because Megan couldn’t go.

  She called Ethan and explained the situation.

  “Luella sneezes like crazy this time of year,” he said. “A lot of ragweed and wild mustard in bloom now. Best thing is to keep her indoors. As for Heather and Brad, I’ll come over and pick them up, then take them home afterward.”

  “I hate to put you to all that trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said.

  There was a pause before he disconnected, as if he had more to say. She hung up the phone with a feeling of dissatisfaction.

  He arrived a few minutes later, honked the horn and waited in the truck with the engine running. The children bolted out the door to meet him, Kayla trailing behind.

  She’d lain awake most of the night reliving the conversation they’d had in the barn, seeing the wounded look in his eyes. Would he ever forgive her?

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said through his open window.

  “Sure,” he replied casually. “I would’ve come inside except I reek of horse sweat, and I didn’t know if that might affect Megan. How’s she doing?”

  “I have her on the nebulizer again. That should help. If it doesn’t, I’ll have to take her in to the clinic.”

  “Call me if you do. I promise to even take a shower and put on clean clothes first.” He grinned.

  She almost wished he wouldn’t. There was mischief in his eyes, as well as concern. A deadly combination. Did this mean he’d forgiven her?

  “I was going to talk to you about your odor,” she mumbled.

  His eyes widened and he sniffed. “That bad, huh?”

  She laughed. “Beat it, before Megan comes charging out and tries to tag along.”

  She watched his crew cab pull down the driveway and waved back at the kids buckled in the backseat.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE FIRST THING KAYLA noticed when Megan got off the school bus Tuesday was that she didn’t run up to the house, and her mother’s instinct immediately went into overdrive. Megan was a natural barrel of energy, always on the go, rarely slowing down until she went to bed at night. But now her daughter was trudging up the driveway like an old woman.

  “Have you been using your inhaler?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Megan wheezed as she crossed the threshold into the house.

  Kayla knelt in front of her for a quick examination. Red eyes, runny nose. Her breathing was too fast, labored. “Come on, let’s get you on the nebulizer.”

  Megan didn’t argue, a sure sign she wasn’t feeling well.

  In Megan’s bedroom, Kayla turned on the little oxygen generator and put drops of albuterol sulfate mixed with ipratropium into the atomizer of the long plastic tube. Megan sat in the small padded chair across from her frilly four-poster. As the machine chugged and gurgled, Megan sucked the wispy vapor through her mouth.

  “Better?” Kayla asked when she turned it off ten minutes later.

  Megan took a deeper breath. “Yes, Mommy.” She was breathing more easily, but was still lethargic.

  “You can rest in the car on the drive to San Antonio to pick up Grandpa.”

  “Will we see the Alamo again?” Megan had been fascinated by the place when they visited it soon after their arrival in Texas.

  “Not today, honey. The Alamo is downtown, a long way from the airport.”

  She locked the house as they left.

  “Can we have Mexican food while we’re there?” Megan asked. “Sara Gallagher at school says they have the best Mexican food on the Riverwalk. Can we go there?”

  “Not this trip, sweetheart. That’s downtown, too.” Okay, she was hungry, so she must be feeling better. “We’re just going to pick up Grandpa and come right back.”

  “I promised Ethan I’d clean Birdsong’s stall today.”

  “That’s okay. I called him earlier and let him know you wouldn’t be coming over.”

  Actually she’d left the message on his voice mail, relieved when she got it instead of having to talk to him. He’d been pleasant yesterday, but that had been with the kids around. She still wasn’t sure how he felt.

  “But Birdsong will miss me.”

  Kayla’s heart felt weighed down. Megan loved that old mare, and caring for her had been good for the child. Kayla would have to make sure her relationship with Ethan didn’t deteriorate to the point where she couldn’t go over there—for Megan’s sake, and for the handicapped kids they were supposed to help together.

  “I’m sure Birdsong will understand. It’s not like she’ll be with strangers. Ethan’s been feeding and grooming her for a long time.”

  “She likes Ethan,” Megan said. “I do, too.”

  The child didn’t say it, but Kayla could hear the unspoken words. I wish he was my daddy.

  She mentioned her father very little since they’d moved to Texas. Daryl had never been an ideal parent, cuddling and tickling one minute, stern and remote the next. The mood swings often left Megan confused and worried.

  The fights he and Kayla had had after he’d lost his job had caused Megan her most severe asthma attacks.

  All that was over now. He was out of their lives, and Megan had been physically and emotionally healthier ever since. Kayla could credit her father for the stability he brought to their lives. He was a good grandparent, but like so many men of his generation, he wasn’t emotionally demonstrative. Ethan, on the other hand, had no hesitation about giving Megan a hug when she needed it. Ironic, considering his renunciation of marriage and family.

  Boyd greeted them with open arms, giving Megan a brief embrace and Kayla a paternal kiss on the cheek.

  “Has the truck shown up yet?” he asked after Kayla had paid the parking fee.

  She shook her head. “They called a little after noon today. Ran into engine trouble this side of El Paso and managed to limp into Fort Stockton, where they were lucky enough to find the part they needed, but it still set them back more than three hours. They expect to arrive at our place around eight tonight.”

  “What about the security system?”

  “The utility company strung the new power line from the road to the vineyard yesterday, and the security people worked all day yesterday and today putting in the fencing and the poles for lights and cameras.”

  She turned onto Loop 410. “They had a problem, though, with a transponder or something, so the system isn’t up yet. Hopefully by tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow?
We need security tonight. The stock I got may be better than the first batch. Not chenin blanc this time, but an exceptionally fine chardonnay. We can supplement them later from our own cuttings if we want to expand.”

  “I’m amazed you were able to get anything.”

  “I wouldn’t settle for anything,” he quietly admonished her. “You can’t make good wine from inferior grapes. Go with the best or not at all.”

  She felt suddenly very tired. The last thing she needed now was a lecture.

  He glanced over and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  She gave him a weak smile and made the turn off the loop onto the road to Homestead.

  “It’s just that we can’t afford to let someone else damage these cuttings,” he said. “I was counting on the security system tonight.”

  “They’ll be all right in the barn.”

  “I’m not going to take a chance. I’ll stay out there tonight.”

  “Dad—”

  He patted her shoulder. “It’s just for one night, honey. Maybe I’ll move the TV out there.” He snickered. “If that doesn’t aggravate me enough to keep me awake, nothing will.”

  Unlike Daryl, who’d been a TV junkie, her father hated TV even more than he disliked sloppy joes. Except for a particular news program, the History Channel and seasonal sports, he never watched it, which suited Kayla fine. That way Megan wasn’t exposed to it, either. She much preferred her daughter read a book.

  Forty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of the house and found Ethan leaning against the side of his truck, ankles and arms crossed, cowboy hat casting his brooding face in shadow. Kayla’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, an image she knew would remain fixed in her mind for the rest of her life. He watched as she and Megan and her father climbed out of her car, then came to greet them.

  * * *

  ETHAN WELCOMED BOYD home, all the time keeping Kayla in his peripheral vision as she walked around the front of the car. He didn’t miss her tension, her wariness that he might still be angry.

  He was angry but not at her, not anymore. He wasn’t the man she wanted him to be, or that he wanted to be, but that wasn’t her fault.